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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900867">We Are Made of Stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisive_penguin/pseuds/indecisive_penguin'>indecisive_penguin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Rituals, F/M, Family, Family Lines, Gen, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Next Gen, Other, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Triwizard Tournament, no one we like stays dead, technically a kid fic, the author is american and is trying their best</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:21:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/indecisive_penguin/pseuds/indecisive_penguin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Malfoy's have always been a relatively private family, but after the war they are even more so. No one knows why it took nearly fifteen years for Draco to marry. No one knows that his wife, Astoria, can't come and go through the house wards as she pleases. No one knows that it took them nearly two years to have a child, or why. </p>
<p>No one knows. </p>
<p>Until 2015 rolls around and with it the revival of the Triwizard Tournament.</p>
<p>Draco is going to have words with whoever thought this was a good idea.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: Hindsight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>May 2nd, 1998</p><p>Draco stands at the top of the crumbling flight of stone steps that once led into the entrance hall and shivers. His mother's eyes are too wide, the whites shot pink, and her fear rattles him to his very bones.</p><p>Still, he hesitates, body poised on that top step, taught as a bowstring as he sweeps his eyes across the battlefield. Over piles of rubble. Over fallen bodies, friend and foe alike. Over the survivors, huddled as they are on these broken stone steps. Ron Weasley's shoulders are slumped, his big frame appearing frail and waifish. His sister's chin juts out, but she trembles like a leaf at the sight of Potter's still form in Hagrid's arms. Professor McGonagall is standing, poised, at the bottom of the steps, but even her hands shake. </p><p>Narcissa Malfoy's eyes are too wide, too fearful, and Draco feels something warm unfurl in his chest where the ice of dread had settled at the sight of Voldemort's return from the forest. </p><p>Slowly, slowly, Draco takes that first step, the impact of his foot on the stone sending a jolt through his system. </p><p>Fred and George Weasley don't look at him as he walks between them on the next step down, but he can feel them shift to let him pass. </p><p>Luna Lovegood tilts her head to him as he passes her on the next step, and Neville Longbottom simply meets his eyes on the next. </p><p>Finally, at the last step, he moves to pass Granger and almost stops. </p><p>She's not looking at him, or even Hagrid and his morbid cargo, but at Narcissa, eyes inscrutable, and he wonders when she figured out what he had just realized. </p><p>In that moment, looking down at her from above, Draco feels his heart constrict. Her lumpy, oversized sweater makes her seem even smaller, more fragile, but he knows from experience that isn't the case. Still, he has to tamp down on the instinctive urge to grab her and run, whisk her to a far off place where she'll be safe from the end of this battle, whatever that may be. </p><p>But then he's passing her by, the back of his hand brushing against her wrist, and he is flooded with memories of them from his brief time spent at Grimmauld place, to their secret meetings in odd places, where he would pass information about Voldemort and his supporters on to her. It had started out small, discreet notes passed in class and left in books for the other to find, and then whispered conversations through fragments of a broken mirror that Granger had seemed tight lipped about but had given him anyway, to face-to-face meetings in dark alleys, shadowed parks, and all manner of discreet, secret places. </p><p>He fights not to turn and look at her as he moves off the stairs and towards his mother, her hand outstretched, but he is almost painfully aware of the halo of her hair, the curve of her cheek, the set of her mouth as her eyes spark defiantly in the face of Voldemort's arrogance. </p><p>He almost smirks, then, but tamps down on the urge, because Hermione Granger is nothing if not a brilliant fighter, and she will not go down quietly. </p><p>Draco muses to himself as he takes his mother's hand and lets her lead him towards the castle gates that he'll have to find her when this is all over and court her properly, maybe dangle the Malfoy family library under her nose. </p><p>If he had known then just what would happen, then he would not have simply passed her by on his way down the stairs. He would have grabbed her and run, consequences be damned. </p><p>As it stood, Hermione Granger was listed amongst the missing after the battle of Hogwarts. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>October 30th, 2015</p><p>Dante observes his best friend over the top of the no-mag magazine he’d snagged at the Damen Blue Line station when no one was looking and frowns. She’s staring out the window of the antique train car, a furrow between her pale brows that speaks of frustration and, probably, just a bit of upset. The green and brown Wampus badge stitched onto her cranberry and blue robes flashes and, faced with the bared teeth of their house mascot and her sullen silence, Dante puts the magazine down with a sigh. </p><p>“Did you fight with your mom again.” He asks. She simply grunts at him and Dante fights not to roll his eyes. </p><p>“Earth to Rory, are you in there?” He asks, reaching across the space between their seats to poke her with the end of his now rolled up magazine. She swats at the offending object and glares at him. </p><p>“Yes, dammit.” She snaps. </p><p>“Just checking.” </p><p>She lets out a put upon sigh and adjusts her robes so that they fall more evenly across the seat. </p><p>“She’s just so...ugh, I don’t get it. I’ve been at the top of our class since first year and she never had an issue, but as soon as an opportunity like this comes along, she pitches a fit.” She says, slumping in her seat slightly. </p><p>“Only you would think of a life-or-death tournament as an ‘opportunity’.” Dante points out and Rory shoots an unamused look at him. </p><p>“We were hand-selected and given special permission, Dante. Besides, the likelihood of either of us being chosen is slim to none. Think of it as a vacation.” </p><p>“<em>You </em> were hand-selected and given special permission. <em> I’m </em>here because Principal Fontaine knows I keep you out of trouble.” </p><p>“Don’t sell yourself short, Dante.” </p><p>“Hey, you guys.” Both teens look up as a short girl with dirty blonde hair appears in the aisle, plopping herself down into a seat across from them. </p><p>“Alice.” Rory nods to her and the girl grins. </p><p>“We’re collecting opinions on where to sit when we get to Hogwarts.” She explains. Rory cocks her head to the side, thinking. </p><p>“There’s still a lot of rivalry and animosity between houses, even after the war. Slytherin and Gryffindor are out for that reason, but Hufflepuffs tend to show up wherever Gryffindors do, so I’d say our best bet is Ravenclaw.” She muses. Alice shoots her a wide grin. </p><p>“Most of the others think so, too. Thanks, Rory.” </p><p>“Anytime.” </p><p>Alice gets up to wander towards the front of the train car and Rory goes back to looking out the window. </p><p>“You figure the Beauxbatons Academy students will have the same idea?” Dante asks, absently going back to his magazine. </p><p>“Not if we get there first. Besides, they’ve always been less neutral overall. They sat with Ravenclaw last time, but I bet you ten bucks they pick the Hufflepuff table this go round.” Rory says, propping her elbow on the armrest of her seat so she can lean her cheek into her palm, grey eyes finding his with a smirk. He snorts. </p><p>“I’ll take that bet.” </p><hr/><p>Teddy doesn’t quite know what he’s expecting from Ilvermorny. </p><p>The Beauxbatons students are huddled around Madam Maxime, their thin, light blue uniforms providing little in the way of protection from the autumn chill of the Scottish Highlands as they, the Hogwarts students and staff, led by Headmistress McGonagal, and the ministry official overseeing the tournament, Edward Scot, all trek down to the train station. </p><p>The last of the Hogwarts students are just filing onto the platform when a shrill whistle pierces the clear evening sky, announcing the arrival of a massive locomotive. It reminds Teddy very much of the Hogwarts Express, but bigger, the all black steam engine glinting in the lamplight as it glides smoothly into the station with a rumble, like some kind of great primordial beast. </p><p>There are three cars attached to it, all of them painted a glossy dark blue with cranberry trim and gilded details. From the first car emerges a middle aged man with greying hair, who crosses to McGonagall with a friendly smile and an extended hand. Behind him, a group of students appears from the same car, moving to stand at attention on the edge of the platform. </p><p>Instead of house colors on a plain black robe, each of the Ilvermorny students is wearing a set of the same cranberry and blue robes, though Teddy can see different colored badges embroidered on the front of each, over the left breast, no doubt indicating which house the owner belongs to. Interestingly, everyone is wearing trousers, even the girls, and what appear to be blue or red sweaters and a matching striped tie. </p><p>There are sixteen of them, eight girls and eight boys, far fewer than Beauxbatons had sent, but all of them seem less nervous, more confident and assured. One in particular draws Teddy’s attention, and he knows from the murmuring going on around him that he’s not the only one. Amidst the blacks and browns of her fellows, the girl’s short, platinum blonde hair stands out like a sore thumb. She’s easily the tallest girl amidst the Ilvermorny students, too, with sharp features and a relaxed, almost arrogant air about her. Teddy watches her lean into the dark skinned boy standing next to her, her lips moving the barest amount. She must have whispered something funny to him because he snickers before facing front again, smirking. </p><p>Teddy tunes back into the Headmistress as she and the middle aged man draw apart from their handshake. </p><p>“I hope the journey wasn’t too taxing, Agilbert.” McGonagall says. The man, who must be Agilbert Fontaine, smiles disarmingly. </p><p>“Not at all, Minerva. Though, that being said, we should probably get everyone back up to the castle.” Teddy is almost positive the man casts a quick glance at the Beauxbatons students when he speaks, all of them still shivering around Madam Maxime. </p><p>“Of course.” McGonagall says, gesturing towards the path. </p><p>Teddy watches in fascination as the Ilvermorny students form up into an orderly line of pairs, marching behind their Headmaster with almost militaristic precision. The rest of the students, Hogwarts and Beauxbatons alike, trails after them up to the castle.</p><hr/><p>“Pay up.” </p><p>Dante grumbles, but he digs in his pockets until he comes up with a crumbled ten, slapping it into Rory’s waiting palm with a grimace. </p><p>“You’re her best friend, Dante. Don’t you know by now not to bet against Rory?” Alice laughs from beside them at the Ravenclaw table, watching as the Beauxbatons students all struggle to cram themselves in at the Hufflepuff table. </p><p>“I’m an optimist.” Dante says. </p><p>“You keep telling yourself that.” Rory grins at him, pocketing the money. </p><p>“How do you think they’ve modified the game this time around?” Alice asks as Headmistress McGonagall starts speaking about unity and cooperation. Rory hums, grey eyes on the giant goblet sitting on a pedestal beside the Headmistress. </p><p>“If it was me, I would go with blood wards on the vase.” She says. </p><p>“Vase?” Alice giggles. Rory rolls her eyes. </p><p>“No one’s going to drink out of it. It’s not a cup, it’s a vase.” </p><p>“No way. You know how Europeans are about blood rites.” Dante says, taking a sip from his glass and grimacing. </p><p>“What <em> is </em>this?” </p><p>Rory glances at it, then picks up a different glass, this one filled with water, and passes it to him. </p><p>“You got the pumpkin juice that’s meant for further down the table. Check the pitcher next time. And I said ‘if it were me,’ not that they did. But remember, last time they put a bunch of precautions in place and still ended up with a dead champion.” </p><p>“Didn’t they have four champions that time, too?” Alice asks. </p><p>“Yes. And I believe they also had a Voldemort problem to contend with.” Dante says with a shrug. Rory hums at that, watching as McGonagall gestures for Richard Scot to take her place and explain the entry process. Everyone in the hall seems to hold their breath as he opens his mouth to begin speaking, starting out with a brief reiteration of how only of age candidates will be accepted and the severity of attempting to circumvent the Ministry's precautions. </p><p>“What's more, to enter, the candidate is required to submit a single drop of blood to the goblet. Now...” As Scot continues to drone on, Rory glances at Dante, who’s eyebrows have risen nearly to his hairline. </p><p>“Damn. Didn’t see that coming.” He mutters. </p><p>“Told you.” Rory says quietly. </p><p>“Yeah, but there’s a lot of prejudice here about that kind of thing.” Alice has leaned closer, face grave and eyes dancing around the hall. A great number of students had physically recoiled when Scot had started talking about the entry process. </p><p>“I guess the Ministry is determined not to have any mistakes this time.” Rory says, taking a slow sip from her own glass, her own eyes sweeping the hall just as Alice’s are. </p><p>“Bullshit. If they didn’t want any ‘mistakes’ then they wouldn’t hold the tournament at all.” Dante says, hunching his shoulders. </p><p>“It might be a deterrent.” Alice says softly. </p><p>“That’s what I’m thinking. There are a bunch of people who no longer look as eager as they did two minutes ago.” Rory nods, eyes sliding to Alice’s. The girl shrugs. </p><p>“Doesn’t matter for us.” She says, leaning back in her seat. Rory snorts derisively. </p><p>As if a student of Ilvermorny would balk at the likes of a blood sacrifice. </p><p>All sixteen of them, in fact, barely twitch as Scot concludes his little speech with a reminder that only majority age students are allowed to enter, that consequences for trying to bypass the wards are more severe this year, and that the Ministry expects their understanding. </p><p>“Definitely a deterrent.” Alice says as several students across the hall slump in their seats, obviously dejected. Rory shrugs. </p><p>“It’s impossible to get around blood wards. The Ministry really isn’t taking any chances this time, even if they’re squeamish about it.” </p><p>“Why does that not invoke a great deal of confidence?” Dante asks, picking up his silverware as their plates fill with food. </p><p>“Because both of us grew up with stories about how incompetent the Ministry of Magic is?” Rory asks, spooning steamed broccoli onto her plate before passing the dish down to Alice. </p><p>“I keep forgetting you both have European parents.” The girl says, filling her plate before passing the bowl and accepting the mashed potatoes from Dante. </p><p>“Yeah, well, it doesn’t mean much in the long run. During this tournament, I’m an Ilvermorny student first and foremost.” Rory says. </p><p>“Here here.” Dante says, stabbing a piece of roast pork with his knife. </p><p>Alice laughs.</p>
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